


We Are All We Need

by FictionPenned



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/pseuds/FictionPenned
Summary: Rose and the Doctor drink in the sky on a faraway planet and indulge in each other's company.Written for the Missed Connections Exchange!
Relationships: The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Rose Tyler, Thirteenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36
Collections: Missed Connections Exchange





	We Are All We Need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kara_pendragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kara_pendragon/gifts).



The sky is awash with pinks and golds. Two orange moons hang low on the horizon, their light further multiplied by the reflections in the seemingly endless sea that spreads out below the place where Rose and the Doctor sit — reaching towards an unknown eternity. Rose does not know what lies in the great beyond of this planet — she has, after all, never been here before — but she suspects that the Doctor would be able to recite the entire history of this planet if she was to ask.

Rose has always admired the Doctor’s formidable breadth of knowledge, the sheer volume of facts that can be contained in that pretty head. Of course, that knowledge has its own fair share of blind spots, but it is no less impressive for them, and besides, filling in those blank spaces is part of Rose’s job. She always makes a point to speak to the residents of the many places and times that they visit. She asks about whether or not they feel safe in their homes, whether or not they can afford to feed their families, whether or not they are aware of their rights as both workers and denizens of the universe. This habit has incited more than one rebellion, but that is par for the course when one runs alongside the Doctor. She might as well start penciling one into her diary on every second Tuesday.

That’s what they do, after all. Rose and the Doctor criss-cross time and space, inspiring people to make the universe a little bit better, a little bit kinder, a little bit more loving. It is the sort of thing that forms the foundation of countless stories in countless places, however, even the best heroes sometimes need a break. There are many days when eyes are heavy and souls are weary and hope is difficult to come by. On those days, Rose and the Doctor take a detour, choosing somewhere beautiful, quiet, and remote to stretch out a picnic blanket, take a deep breath, and rest.

As much as Rose thrives on the fast-paced excitement of life with the Doctor, she adores these small moments when they are allowed to slow down just as much. Sometimes, she even catches herself pining for these sweet, soft, pastel-colored afternoons.They were first reunited beneath a sunset that was this same blushing color, clutching each other in a tight embrace and running fingers through their newly shared hair. "You decided to take after me," Rose had laughed against the Doctor's lips. The Doctor had merely smiled and replied, "You're a good person to take after, Rose Tyler." They've scarcely been parted since, each too afraid of losing each other again to even consider the possibility of wandering off. 

Rose’s hand wanders across their shared picnic blanket, and she brushes the very tips of her fingers against the back of the Doctor’s hand. It is intended to be both a playful gesture and a comforting one, but the Doctor flinches at the suddenness of the contact, a tiny flutter of shock and surprise and confusion.

“Sorry,” the Doctor apologizes a second later, after a quick glance and Rose and a deep inhale through her nose clears some of the tension and slows the beating of her hearts back to a more natural pace. “Don’t know what’s gotten into me lately. Need a drink, probably.” A huff of air puffs her cheeks wide as she reconsiders the statement. “Maybe two drinks. That’s what people say when they get like this, right? Always hear it.” There’s a sideways look, and genuine earnestness scribes itself across the Time Lord’s cheeks as she tries to start a conversation that she is not _remotely_ prepared to have.

The set of Rose’s mouth shifts into a vaguely amused smile. For all of the Doctor’s idiosyncratic quirks — or maybe even because of them — Rose is firmly and decidedly in love with her. “People normally say that they need a drink if they want a drink. Do you want a drink? I’m sure the TARDIS will rustle something up if one of us asks nicely.”

The Doctor wrinkles her nose, eyes shifting back to the moon-drenched water. “Nah. Never much cared for drinking. Drinks taste foul, have you noticed? Not to mention that it’s the sort of foulness that sticks to your tongue, andthen it takes at _least_ twelve packets of sugar to finally wash it away. Seems like a bit of a waste, really. I don’t get it.”

Rose’s smile lingers — bright and loving and terribly, horribly fond. “I think the sugar may be your first problem. Most people just mix in something else with their liquor, like a juice or a syrup or something.”

The Doctor blinks once, confusion evident. “Juices and syrups are mostly sugar, aren’t they? It’s a short cut. I’m taking a short cut.”

“I don’t think something can be considered a short cut if it doesn’t work.”

“Maybe it’s a short cut in progress. Maybe I have to knock down a fence somewhere. Easy enough.”

Rose laughs. “You could probably just climb the fence, you know.”

“It’s a tall fence. Respect the fence. It never did anything to you.” The Doctor bristles with faux affront, but a current of good-natured joy sweeps the thought along its way. The happiness of a person you love is difficult to resist. The body, mind, and soul naturally itch to join in, and there is little that can be done to stop them.

“Do Time Lords drink?” Rose asks once her laughter finally fades away and curiosity rises to take its place. “On Gallifrey, I mean.”

A certain darkness places a damper upon the Doctor’s expression, as it always does when she is asked about her home, her people, or her personal history. Her relationship with Gallifrey is a complicated one — a tangled web of love and guilt and betrayal — but she has been consistently striving to be more honest with Rose, to throw open the doors to her hearts and welcome her inside.

“Not really. Not in the same way, at any rate. We have a penchant for ginger, Time Lords. Targets the nervous system, clouds the mind, makes you giddy, all that good stuff.”

Rose cocks her head, and a mischievous tongue works against the single point of a canine tooth. “So a throat lozenge could knock you out, then?”

The Doctor scoffs, fidgeting ever so slightly as she attempts to make herself more comfortable on the blanket and the warm sand beneath. “Don’t be ridiculous. Half a bag of them, maybe.”

The feigned machismo is tangible, hanging in the air like a cloud of cheap cologne. Rose finds herself teetering on the edge of another round of uncontrollable laughter. It’s all a bit ridiculous, she thinks. A couple years ago, she never thought that she’d ever find herself sitting beneath twin moons and a pale pink sky while her alien girlfriend lies about her tolerance to ginger in a failed attempt to impress her. Her entire life has become rather bizarre, but Rose would not have it any other way.

The Doctor’s quizzical gaze alights upon Rose, who manages to swallow her mirth for just long enough to deliver part of an explanation for her amusement. “Half a bag means a quarter of a bag, right? I know you, Doctor. You can’t pull one over on me.”

The Doctor’s puzzlement lifts, giving way to a proud warmth tinged with the slightest ounce of shame. “More like three lozenges, if I’m honest,” she mutters, half to Rose and half to the indistinct patch of empty air that hovers in front of them.

 _Rule 1: The Doctor lies_.

Rose gives into her laughter, clutching her sides as she howls her delight. Despite her momentary flustered embarrassment, the Doctor smiles. The twin moons rise a little bit higher, reaching into the swirling pink and gold canvas of the sky, and, perhaps most strikingly of all, both Rose and the Doctor have entirely forgotten about the nervous flinch that precipitated the conversation. That tension and fear is gone now, chased away by love and joy and sharp relief. Their shared joy heals each other's wounds more than either of them will ever know. 

“You’re incorrigible. You know that, right?” Roses says. Brightness glitters in her eyes, a light unrivaled by even the moons themselves.

“I strive to be incorrigible. Got a formal telling off about it once during a jaunt to Predite IV. They gave me a sticker and everything. Pretty sure I —“

The babbling stops as soon as Rose places gentle hands on either side of the Doctor’s house and places her soft lips to the Time Lord’s, locking the Doctor inkiss that is gently and kind and absolutely lovely.

When they part, the Doctor is stunned into silence, unable to do anything but breathe and succumb to the nagging urge to fidget. “What’d I do to earn that?”

Rose runs a finger down the curve of the Doctor’s cheek. It moves on to trace the lines of her neck before finally coming to rest in the hollow of her collarbone. She can feel twin pulses running through the Doctor’s veins — fast and urgent and tightly focused. “For just being you.”

“Better be careful. A person could get used to that.”

Rose’s smile widens as she tears her eyes away from the Doctor and turns her attention towards the lush embrace of the unfamiliar sky. “In a good way, I hope.”

A quiet pause settles over them as the Doctor’s hand moves to cover Rose’s own. “Everything with you is exceptionally good, Rose Tyler.”

The light on the seawater dances, shifting into something like a smile, reflecting not only the warmth of the moonlight, but the contented glow of a Time Lord and a human who are very much in love.


End file.
